


A Very Distinctive Hunt

by AlannaofRoses



Series: The Pack Long Con [6]
Category: Leverage
Genre: M/M, Pixie Parker, Shifter Eliot, Shifter Quinn, spoilers for all of season 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:21:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlannaofRoses/pseuds/AlannaofRoses
Summary: When the Leverage team is tasked with going after Damien Moreau, they will learn more about Eliot's past than he ever wanted them to. When Quinn gets caught in the crossfire, Eliot must hunt down his greatest enemy to save everything he holds dear.
Relationships: Mr. Quinn/Eliot Spencer (Leverage)
Series: The Pack Long Con [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1710754
Comments: 9
Kudos: 50





	A Very Distinctive Hunt

It all starts with one simple sentence.

“We’re going after Damian Moreau.”

Eliot had spent a week with Quinn at the safehouse, the two of them reveling in their brief time together. By day two, Eliot had been feeling well enough to cook for them, and every meal had been a gourmet affair. Quinn had often joked that Eliot’s love language was food, and it was true. He often found the words difficult to say, after so many years of secrets and lies. But he could pour his heart into a steak or a salad or a sandwich, and Quinn had learned to taste the affection he layered into each dish.

Quinn had much less trouble saying the words, but he had long understood that Eliot had a hard time believing words. So Quinn was all physical affection, something the cheetah Shifter excelled at. He would butt Eliot’s shoulder with his head, rub circles against Eliot’s back or arm or hand, tap messages in Morse code against Eliot’s wrist. A hundred tiny touches that said, ‘I’m here’, ‘I’m yours’, ‘I love you’.

It had been an odd dance, at first. When they had met, Eliot had been fresh from war and worse, wound so tightly Quinn had wondered that he didn’t simply shatter completely. It had taken them a long time to find a rhythm with each other. Now, even after a year apart, they settled back into that rhythm as easily as breathing.

Even if it couldn’t last.

Eventually, Quinn’s time had run out. Eliot hadn’t tried to make him stay. They both knew the boundaries of what they had. These short meetings were allowed, but lasting happiness was not. Not for them.

He had merely kissed Quinn at the door, deep and passionate and claiming, and Quinn had given as good as he got.

Eliot had watched until Quinn’s truck disappeared down the drive.

After that, he had packed his own things and headed out as well. He took a few low-key jobs just to have something to hit, tried out fancy new restaurants in every city he passed, his brain making a mental checklist of what he might bring back to make for the team.

Sophie liked foods that were smooth and rich, easily swallowed between sentences. Hardison liked comfort foods and odd flavor combinations, looking at food like new code to test. Parker’s tastes ran sweet and calorie-rich, things that would give her the endless supply of energy she relied on. Nate would eat just about anything provided there was meat somewhere on his plate.

It was a tricky set of combinations that Eliot had slowly been perfecting.

He was testing out a new recipe in a rented kitchen somewhere in the backwoods of Canada when Sophie finally called.

They were getting Nate out. They were going home.

Of course, it wasn’t as easy as that. They made and discarded a hundred plans, and even when the four of them had settled on a pretty good one, Nate vetoed the whole thing.

Eliot was about ready to let the man do his penance, since that was clearly what he wanted, but he knew this wasn’t about that.

It was, and had always been, about control.

Eliot understood control. He knew what it was to have something living just under your skin, itching to get out. He’d long ago made peace with his own fractured nature, understanding that it was only in the act of acceptance that one could be made whole.

He suspected Nate hadn’t yet reconciled himself with the person he had become when Sam died. Nate’s lack of inner control manifested in his obsessive need to control everything and everyone around him. Lucky for him, he was good enough at it that it worked. Usually.

It worked this time, at least. The plan was way too complicated, but they pulled it off, and Eliot put down the jail guards with a fair bit of satisfaction, even if he did need to pretend to be sloppy enough to leave one awake.

Eliot’s soul knit back together with the completion of his pack once again. Quinn was distant but whole, and his team was all within his reach again. Of course, he hadn’t fully forgiven the mastermind, and probably wouldn’t for a while. He had enjoyed the hint of fear creeping into Nate’s scent as Eliot set the scene in the infirmary to look eerily similar to a torture scenario.

Not that he would need a dental drill to cause Nate pain, should he so desire.

It was, of course, the only glimpse he would give Nate of the true cost of the decisions that had led to Eliot having to leave him behind, injured and in enemy hands. He could only hope it was enough to make him think twice before pulling something like it again.

He did take immense satisfaction from the frustration pouring off of Nate as he revealed he knew Sophie’s real name, and he wasn’t allowed to tell the mastermind. It was a tiny bit of sweet, sweet justice.

They met back at McRory’s, but it wasn’t a lengthy reunion. They were going to split, at least temporarily. Jet off to all corners of the globe to give Nate a clean getaway, make sure the rest of them wouldn’t go down. It wasn’t ideal, but at least they were all safe and free this time. In no time, they would be meeting up again in Paris and they could go from there.

Hardison was still talking, Sophie by his side, the rest of them following, when the hacker opened the door to a wall of guns pointed at their faces.

Eliot’s claws dropped instantly, his fangs almost slicing through his lip as they enlarged. He took a step forward, every instinct screaming to protect, to get between his pack and those weapons. Even as he took the step, he knew it wouldn’t be enough. He’d go down first, but they’d just kill the others once he was down.

Nate knew it to. The mastermind gripped his arm tight, stopping him. It takes Eliot a moment to figure out why.

Behind them, The Italian is wearing scent blockers. Eliot seethes as he realizes she had studied Nate and his team well enough to know or at least guess there was a Shifter in the bunch. She had played one of the dirtiest tricks in the book, invading a Shifter’s lair without even the courtesy of leaving a scent. He would have gladly ripped out her throat for the threat she had brought to his team. She’s holding all the cards though, most of them in the form of the weapons still pointed at Eliot’s pack. He is helpless. Again. He is truly starting to loathe the feeling.

She takes Nate downstairs to the bar, leaving Eliot, Sophie, Parker, and Hardison with her men. Eliot is practically vibrating through his human skin with the need to Shift, to protect, to attack, pacing the floor between his team, sequestered in the kitchen, and the armed men standing at the ready in the main room.

He has just lost count of his revolutions when a slim, cool hand slips into his own.

He stills, letting Parker take what comfort she needs from him, pressed against the back of his shoulder, almost completely hidden by his body. A moment later, he feels Sophie take the other hand, unconcerned about the razor-sharp claws still on display. Hardison joins them next, standing between the girls directly behind Eliot, an arm around each of their waists.

They are letting him shield them, he realizes, and something in his chest melts like snow at the blatant show of trust.

If everything went to hell, they trusted him to do what needed to be done. To take the hits, but take down the enemy anyway. It was the best gift they could have given him.

It’s how Nate and the Italian find them still, holding on to one another, Eliot shielding his team.

The Italian barks an order, and the men lower their weapons and file out, Eliot not relaxing until the last one has left the room and the door clicks to behind him.

Nate is still standing in the middle of the apartment, watching them with a shrewd gaze.

Eliot meets his eyes, but gives no explanation.

Nate hasn’t earned this back yet.

“What did she want?” Sophie asks, squeezing Eliot’s hand before leaving their huddle to go to Nate.

“Ah.” Nate deflects. “I need a drink first.”

He pours a glass, the rest of them sitting at the table to wait. Eliot takes the foot of the table, his teeth and claws retracted, but his body still thrumming with a dangerous sort of energy.

All that energy almost explodes when he hears those words.

“We’re going after Damian Moreau.”

Instantly, the table erupted into protest. Eliot wasn’t even surprised that everyone on the team knew of Moreau, if only by reputation. The man had had his fingers in many, many pies over the years. Eliot was about to pull the plug on the whole idea, even if it meant telling the team exactly what going after Moreau would entail, when Nate laid out the rest of the Italian’s message.

Take down Moreau, or they would all pay the price. Permanently.

It was the one thing he could have said that could have muzzled Eliot. He can’t tell them how hopeless their quest is. Not with their lives on the lines. He’s just going to have to get this done himself and make sure none of his team get caught in the crossfire.

His head is spinning with plans and options, most discarded the second they form. He’s only half listening to the team as they warm to the idea of taking out Moreau piece by piece.

Nate was almost cocky about their chances, even with Eliot’s veiled warning. It’s the best he can do without revealing too much of his own stake in the game. Without his explicit disapproval, Nate’s confidence ignites the team, Hardison, Parker, and even Sophie growing tentatively excited about their newest task.

Eliot goes home and destroys two punching bags. His hands and claws are bloody and bruised by the time he’s done, the floor strewn with the tattered remnants of his rage and terror.

He’d known this would happen someday. Someone, somewhere, would always want Moreau dead. None of them had ever succeeded. Eliot himself had seen to that, for a very long time. Now he had to make a decision, once and for all.

He had never thought, when this day finally arrived, that he would have a team to lose.

He sits in the darkness of his apartment for a long time. It’s fitting. A long night of the soul. A mirror for the darkness in his heart. A mourning shroud, for what he will lose in the days ahead.

Even if everyone else makes it out alive, Eliot knows he will have lost a vital part of himself by the time this is all over and done.

He aches for Quinn. He knows what the other Shifter would say, would urge him to do. But then, Quinn had always thought that Eliot was stronger than he actually was. He doesn’t know what it had cost Eliot, walking away from Moreau the first time. Losing everything and remaking himself from the ashes.

Eliot can’t do it again.

The sky outside his window is turning a hazy blue by the time Eliot stirs. He feels hollowed out, as empty as the shredded bag still spinning in lazy circles above him.

He stands, slowly, his joints creaking with protest. He takes one step, then another. His path is chosen now. All he can do from here is to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

He finds his cell, discarded on the table. He taps out a quick text.

“LVRG coming for him.”

He wonders if any of them will forgive him.


End file.
